


There is no cure

by Quoozle



Category: A Cure For Wellness (2016)
Genre: Aftercare, Choking, Eels, Gen, Gross, Imprisonment, Medical Torture, Medical Trauma, Nausea, Panic, Sick Character, Sweat, Vomiting, creepy doctor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 20:52:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11813976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quoozle/pseuds/Quoozle
Summary: What should have happened in "A Cure for Wellness" after Dr. Volmer forcefeeds Lockhart eel-filled water through a tube. I tried to fill in the gap between that scene and Lockhart "accepting" that he belongs in the sanitarium. Mostly a lot of vomiting and panicking and a little bit of aftercare via Volmer.





	There is no cure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aisu10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aisu10/gifts).



> Thanks to Aisu10 for encouraging me to actually write this, start an account here, and post it! I hope some other users also find this topic to their liking!

Lockhart slowly opens his eyes to searing fluorescent light and raw pain burning down his entire throat. He groans, squinting, raises his hand to his face to rub the front of his neck and realizes it’s slick with water…water dribbling from his chin all the way down his throat to the top of his sterile white shirt, soaking the collar like sweat. Sitting up suddenly he gasps as his stomach gives a sickening lurch and forces more water gushing up his throat. He coughs and splutters and covers his mouth but the liquid seeps relentlessly through his fingers. _What’s happening to me??_ Starting to panic, Lockhart looks down at his body, swathed in bed sheets, snatches back the pale blue fabric…and the memories come slamming back into his brain with the force of a freight train. The device that he initially mistook for an innocuous iron lung. The rubber ring jammed into his mouth to keep his jaws achingly wide. The eels in the tank of filthy water. The tube…the tube invading his throat, repeatedly triggering his gag reflex to no avail. Screaming, gagging, the eels swimming down the tube, swimming, swimming, while his stomach filled and distended and he sweated and sweated and finally passed out.

Wide awake now, Lockhart stares at his swollen midsection in abject horror. Not only can he feel the water stretching it beyond its limit, but he can feel _them._ He can feel them writhing inside him. His stomach sloshes and churns with the alien sensation, sending waves of nausea throughout his entire body. Something more acidic than water starts to creep up the back of his throat and it takes all of his dwindling focus to keep his lips pressed tightly together. _Oh god. Oh god no._ A wet burp puffs out his cheeks and he tries desperately to swallow the saliva back down, refusing to open his mouth. His entire body shudders, a spasm forces him to bend over double in the bed, tears burn at the corners of his eyes. His stomach feels like it’s tied in knots…slithering, slimy knots. Clutching his poor, tormented belly, he grits his teeth and moans. He knows he’s losing the battle as he feels his skin grow cold and clammy.

A second wave of nausea soaks him in sweat and he burps again, nearly choking on the foul-tasting saliva that floods his mouth. Surrendering at last to the inevitable, Lockhart retches once, twice, and vomits a combination of water and bile down his neck and chest. He barely has time to gasp loudly for air before another convulsion hits and more clear fluid spews from his mouth all over the sheets. Hiccups shake his entire body, tears stream down his face, but his stomach continues to writhe and twist, gurgling audibly. _No…no more…please…._

Leaning forward, Lockhart heaves violently and nearly chokes on what comes up. Looking down in horror at his lap he sees…an eel. An eel that is…very much alive. Alive and writhing in the pool of clear vomit that is quickly soaking into Lockhart’s hospital-white pants. Consumed by full-blown panic, Lockhart attempts to leap out of bed but the sheets, damp with his own sweat, entangle his legs and he hits the floor with his shoulder and lays curled in a fetal position, moaning. His stomach…his poor, tender, bloated stomach. He wraps his arms around his tortured middle and grits his teeth. _Just the toxins leaving the body? My ass!_

“I’m disappointed in you, Mr. Lockhart. How can you become well if you reject the cure?”

Lockhart barely has time to register that Dr. Volmer is sitting calmly in the corner of the room, just as he was when he first woke up in this damnable sanitarium, before another spasm hits him. He has no control over his body whatsoever…the water just keeps coming and coming, flooding from his mouth and even his nostrils as he tries desperately to swallow it back down until he gives up and lays weakly on his side, sweating and drooling. How could he possibly have more left to come out?  


Dr. Volmer shakes his head and tsks at him like a father scolding a disobedient child, his chiseled, handsome features endlessly patient and composed, a stark contrast to Lockhart’s wild and haunted dark-ringed eyes and flaring nostrils. Lockhart barely resembles the cocksure young executive who had arrived at the sanitarium just…what…days before? Weeks? The realization that he has lost all track of time only heightens his panic. Just how long _has_ he been imprisoned here?

Lockhart wants nothing more than to scream at this man, this…. _sick bastard_ who trapped him here, but there is no strength left in his tortured body. Instead, he remains curled on the floor, his white hospital clothes now completely soaked in a combination of sweat and vomited water, trying his best just to breathe. All he can seem to manage is little hiccupping attempts at breaths and his chest heaves under his wet white shirt as he comes dangerously close to hyperventilating. _Please just let me out of here…I’ll be a better person from now on I promise! Just let me out of this nightmare please…!_ Every part of him hurts, from his pounding head to his raw throat to his sickened and distended midsection. His head throbs like the ever present pump sound that reverberates constantly through the entire complex and his heart tries to match it, pounding so loudly that he can hear it in his ears. Leaning his damp forehead on the cool floor brings some relief, but the respite is short-lived. There’s more inside of him – he knows. He can feel them writhing in agony in his stomach acid. And his gut wants them out - now. He rolls over and tries to prop himself up on shaky hands and elbows.

“Are you quite finished, Mr. Lockhart?”

Instead of answering, Lockhart arches his back and heaves loudly but all that comes up is more water, splattering onto the floor and pooling between his trembling hands. _Where is it all coming from?_ He burps and moans in misery. More water. More violent retching while Dr. Volmer sits watching impassively, and finally he can feel something slippery and solid coming back up his throat as his stomach squeezes desperately. And then he starts to choke, the pressure in his esophagus cutting off his air. Unable to make a sound, pleading with his eyes, he paws frantically at his chest and neck but Dr. Volmer doesn’t understand…or perhaps he just doesn’t care. Lockhart grasps his own throat, his adam’s-apple bobbing futilely under his clutching hand. He desperately pounds his chest. All to no avail - his vision starts to go gray around the edges. Finally he jabs his fingers as far back into his mouth as he can and gags and gags until the eel slides out, followed by a great whooping gasp. The eel twitches a few times and then finally lays still in the pool of slimy clear fluid on the floor in front of Lockhart’s face. Utterly drained, utterly broken, Lockhart makes no attempt to hide the weeping as tears streak down his pale cheeks and loud sobs rack his body. _All my life I’ve fucked people over. Maybe I do deserve this…._

“Now now, Mr. Lockhart. You must learn to accept the cure if you want to be a well man. We will try the treatment again tomorrow.” Dr. Volmer finally stands and approaches the whimpering, gasping patient lying curled on the floor next to the bed. “I’ll have the nurses come and clean you up and give you some fresh clothes and sheets, and then you can rest.” 

Lockhart gazes up at Volmer, attempts a weak nod. _I am…I am not a well man._ His vision darkens and he passes out. 

When Lockhart is all cleaned up and dressed in a new set of stark white hospital clothes, Volmer gently covers his patient’s unconscious form with the light blue blanket, just as he had after the first round of treatment. He then leans over and kisses him on his forehead before turning out the light – just like the father that Lockhart hadn’t had since childhood.


End file.
